


and find where you've been (you are perfect porcelain)

by expectopatronuz



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, and a bit of implied/referenced homophobia, but theres not a lot of it, idk im really bad with summaries, im not even sure what it is anymore, its a malum soulmate au theres not much else to it, like this started out something totally different, so i wouldnt read this if youre easily triggered, there is some internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expectopatronuz/pseuds/expectopatronuz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your clocks are both at zero.” A boy finally muttered.</p><p>“Yeah? So?” Calum asked, and there a nervous laugh rang around the room.</p><p>“So, are you like—soulmates?” Someone else asked, and Michael dug his teeth into his lips.</p><p>“We’re best friends.” </p><p> </p><p>or, Calum and Michael are soulmates and that should be the end but it's really just the beginning</p>
            </blockquote>





	and find where you've been (you are perfect porcelain)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gravityinglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravityinglass/gifts).



> so three months ago i decided to sign of for a secret santa and this was the result
> 
> title is from porcelain by marianas trench

Michael didn’t remember learning about the whole soulmate thing; it was just something he’d always known.

It was the same with everyone; all kids just grew up knowing what the numbers on their wrists meant, knowing that they would meet their soulmate, and that was that, really.

And he’d never been old enough to consider that his numbers were significantly lower than everyone else’s; reading 054 254:32:19 when he was born, while most people’s started off at least at 175 000:00:00. He’d never been old enough to realize what having a soulmate meant, what it implied. He didn’t know what it meant to be in love or how soulmates were supposed to feel, all he knew was that people like his parents were soulmates and it worked out pretty well for them. 

Michael didn’t actually remember it happening, either. Like he knew the story, he knew how it happened because between his mum and his teacher’s letter to his parents and the other adults involved, it was pretty detailed. In a way it was kind of shitty, because everyone went on about that first moment they saw their soulmate and how their world changed and the way it felt to first touch them, the way everything suddenly clicked and they found what they’d been missing their whole lives, and Michael would never have that moment.

But hey, at least he’d never had that feeling—like something was missing from him. He was too young at only six years old. 

Everyone knew, on his first day of school. His wrist read 00 000:41:18 when his mum woke him up and she was tearful dropping him off and like—he got it, but at the same time he really didn’t, didn’t even bother watching his clock. 

The teacher walked over and introduced herself to Michael’s mum, then Michael, and she’d noticed right away but didn’t say anything. 000 000:04:43; it could be anyone, any of the students. 

She told him to go talk to the other kids, a little shakier than usual because this didn’t happen, maybe once in a lifetime would someone come across something like this. Maybe. 

He’d gone straight for the building blocks and busied himself with the building of a tower, paying no mind to the teacher’s careful eyes on him, forgetting totally about the clock.

Michael obviously didn’t see it, but when another mother appeared at the door with curious and nervous eyes, the teacher knew right away. 

And her son glanced around without caution, the teacher and his mother watching with their breath held. The boy had glanced up and shrugged at the strange behavior, favoring instead to wander over to the growing pile of blocks.

He sat down and starting adding to the tower without a word, only stopping once the teacher came over and asked if they would like to introduce themselves to each other.

Michael shrugged and the other boy looked over and said; “I’m Calum.”

So Michael responded with “I’m Michael.”

And they went back to building the tower and the teacher was just—astonished. She was supposed to have started the class ten minutes before but she was just watching the two boys, their hands brushing together like it was nothing, like it was normal. She didn’t know how to react, but she could tell that they were different.

At least, that’s what her letter said. 

 

The first time it occurred to Michael that having his best friend as his soulmate might be abnormal was in year four.

He and Calum were at a boy’s birthday party, one of the ones where everyone in the year was invited. Because honestly—it wasn’t that they had no other friends, it was just that they were—well— _calumandmichael. _They were always together and while they weren’t by any means disliked, the other kids tended to leave them to themselves.__

So they didn’t spend enough time with the other boys to know exactly how to act and it was all fine, they just played some games and watched a movie and it was all very normal, like what Michael and Calum did at their own sleepovers anyways.

Until they set up for bed, all unwrapping their sleeping bags and Michael and Calum obviously set up next to each other and when everyone was lying down and the lights were off, the conversation turned to girls.

They were just at that age—that boys started noticing girls and crushes became of the upmost importance, and so the more popular boys started asking questions and when they got to Calum, Michael felt inexplicably nervous.

“Who do you like?” One of the boys had asked, and Calum shrugged.

“I dunno. No one, I guess.” He explained, and the other boy laughed.

“You have to like _someone _, come on. We won’t tell her.” The boy pushed, so Calum shrugged again.__

“I dunno, I guess I like Michael.” He’d finally said, casually, dully, thinking nothing of it.

And beside him, Michael froze, because he didn’t know why but it felt like it was the absolute worst thing to say. And besides, they were only ten. They didn’t know how it felt to like someone and they didn’t understand what it was to be soulmates and that they were supposed to be in love. They were just best friends and while it was nice of Calum, he really didn’t know what he was saying, in Michael’s opinion.

A silence had fallen over the room, an uneasy one. Michael felt it and he didn’t know why it was there but he knew it was, but Calum just seemed oblivious, looking around and waiting for someone to say something.

“Your clocks are both at zero.” A boy finally muttered.

“Yeah? So?” Calum asked, and there a nervous laugh rang around the room.

“So, are you like—soulmates?” Someone else asked, and Michael dug his teeth into his lips.

“We’re best friends.” He said before Calum had a chance to respond, and Calum turned to look at him—confused.

“We are, though.” He added, eyes searching Michael’s face.

“You are soulmates?” One of the boys asked to clarify, and Michael tried to plead with Calum mentally, tried to will him to say no and Calum got it, but he gave Michael a sort of bewildered look like; _we are, and we have no reason not to tell people _.__

“Yeah,” Calum didn’t look away from Michael as he spoke. “We are soulmates.”

The boys laughed—like really laughed that time and Michael felt his face go hot, felt his stomach turn. Some of the boys started throwing around terms Michael didn’t understand but he knew they meant something bad and he tore his eyes away from Calum, rolling to curl up, facing the opposite direction.

He didn’t sleep that night. He lied still, turned away from Calum and he was embarrassed and he was upset and he was a little mad at Calum, because so what if they were soulmates, they didn’t act like it, it just felt normal to Michael so they must be a different kind of soulmate, one without all the soulmate-y things.

He could feel Calum lying awake next to him. Couldn’t hear him or see him but he could feel that he was going sleepless as well.

And then Michael had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from crying because if that wasn’t a soulmate-y thing, than he didn’t know what was.

 

Michael couldn’t remember not being best friends with Calum, and Calum couldn’t remember not being best friends with Michael. They had no memories from before they met, and by the time they entered secondary school, they’d gotten used to the strange looks and the comments like “that’s adorable” or “that’s kind of gay.” 

But the negative ones, the ones that made Michael cry and Calum confused back in primary school had mostly died down, partly because their classmates were just a bit more mature but also because the whole soulmate thing was starting to matter, people were starting to care about their clocks and they pretty much realized that they had no business making fun of two people who’d happened to have already found their soulmate.

It was also a much bigger school, but somehow everyone knew from day one that it was _calumandmichael _. They’d meet new people together and they would notice their wrists and give a knowing look, be it a teacher or another student.__

It was just normal, really. There had never been a time that they weren’t _calumandmichael _but they did have other friends.__

And one day in a class that Michael had without Calum, he was working on a project in the hallway with one of his friends and Calum walked by with his class on the way to the library, so Michael waved and Calum rushed over and gave him a tight hug before returning to his class and Michael’s friend looked at him and smiled, kind of sadly, and Michael said;

“What?”

“You’re soulmates, aren’t you?” 

And Michael had heard that question before and gotten different reactions and he’d learned to deal with them but it still wasn’t nice to hear so he couldn’t be blamed for snapping; “What’s it to you?”

“It’s just—like as soon as you saw him your face totally lit up. And when you guys hugged—I could practically see fireworks.” His friend explained, and Michael rolled his eyes at the cliché description. “I just—if you’re soulmates, how are you not together?”

Michael was sort of stunned into silence, before his friend continued. “I’ve still got like, five years to go, and I obviously have no idea how it feels but if it were me I wouldn’t be wasting any time.”

“It’s not like that with me and Calum,” Michael hastily mumbled, but judging by his friend’s pitying, knowing expression, he didn’t believe him.

Michael took to wearing bracelets after that, bracelets or long sleeves just to avoid the explanations. He pretended not to notice Calum’s hurt expression when he saw. 

 

Michael didn’t start hiding from Calum, necessarily. They still saw each other and they were still best friends and they still hung out but there were a lot less sleepovers and at school Michael tended to talk to someone new every day which left him with very few actual friends and a lot of extra time.

And Calum was fine; Calum had football and football friends, so Michael stayed home most of the time and played video games or watched entire TV series’ in one weekend.

He wasn’t even sure why he did it, necessarily. Calum was his favorite person in the world and he would spend all of his time with him if it were possible, but then there was the soulmate thing and there was so much that they were supposed to be but also shouldn’t be and Michael didn’t even know what he wanted to be with Calum, and it all gave him a bit of a headache.

So he just forgot about the soulmate thing and went out and had his first kiss with a pretty girl and he felt nothing—like it was nice objectively but her lips felt all wrong and all he could think of was the way Calum felt when they hugged, or when they were pressed up next to each other and it was different, it really was.

He told Calum about it the next day, in a group of other friends and he might have been bragging a bit and everyone was laughing and patting his back except for Calum, whose eyes Michael couldn’t meet.

That night Calum showed up at his door with red eyes that Michael didn’t comment on and they didn’t speak until they were in his room and then Calum pressed his lips together nervously.

“Why did you kiss her?” He asked, and Michael wished he hadn’t done it, wished he hadn’t seen Calum’s red eyes and knew that he caused them.

“She wanted me to, I guess. And—” Michael trailed off, unsure.

“And you wanted to kiss her too?” Calum asked, and Michael shook his head.

“I wanted to know how it felt. I wanted to figure things out. I—it was just a kiss, Calum.” Michael sighed, feeling guilty and really he’d felt guilty since he’d decided to do it.

“It was your first kiss.” Calum mumbled. “It’s supposed to mean something.”

“It meant something.” Michael argued, but it sounded empty to both of them.

“Well,” Calum huffed, “It didn’t mean enough.” And Michal had nothing to say to that, so he stayed silent. “My first kiss is going to mean something. I’m going to make sure it does.”

“What does that mean?” Michael asked, but Calum was walking over to him and he sort of already knew.

“Please don’t—like—freak out at me. I just want to have this.” Calum mumbled, and by then they were standing facing each other, pressed close, and Calum reached tentatively for Michael’s hand. He breathed in deep, and they were so close, so close Michael could swear he felt Calum’s heart beating faster than normal, and then Calum leaned forward and pressed their lips together, and—

It wasn’t desperate or chaste or short or long necessarily, but it was—it was everything it should have been. It was burning and ice and fireworks and explosions and every other stereotype that Michael had heard used to describe the first soulmates kiss and it wasn’t awkward at all like with the girl Michael had kissed. They didn’t really need to figure it out, it just worked, and then Calum pulled away and nodded to himself.

They talked a bit, played some video games and then Calum left and it was like normal, except it wasn’t because Michael knew how Calum’s lips felt and it was too much—just too much because he’d always loved Calum but he’d never _loved _Calum and—__

He pulled back even further. He hadn’t meant to, but he was scared and he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel and lots of people told him that he was lucky to have found his soulmate but he just felt confused, so he stopped hanging out with Calum outside of school at all and they were still best friends but they were very, very different kinds of best friends, and Michael wished that everything could be simple like it was when they first met.

 

Michael didn’t consciously hate all of Calum’s new friends, but he would be at home, having spent another entire weekend without actually leaving his bedroom and he saw Calum tagged in all of the posts on Facebook, wrist out for everyone to see and—

He felt like shit. He was going into Year Nine and he had no friends and he wasn’t good in school and he had only seen Calum once during the summer, and it had felt forced and awkward but Calum had still given him a tight hug before leaving, teary eyed when he mumbled that Michael was always number one.

So yeah—watching Calum be closer with other people made Michael feel absolutely awful for a handful of reasons that he couldn’t even begin to address. And even from the very first day of Year Nine, Luke Hemmings was the worst of it.

Michael didn’t know when or where they’d met but they greeted each other on the first day like they’d known each other their whole lives and it made Michael’s blood boil. He thought he even saw red when they hugged. 

Luke wasn’t Calum’s first friend apart from Michael, but he certainly seemed like the best, the closest, the most threatening.

And that was it, really. There were more students that year anyways and most of them had gotten over Calum and Michael being soulmates and he didn’t know what he wanted to be with Calum but he knew he wanted him, so Michael waited outside Calum’s locker after school on only the second day (frankly surprised he’d even lasted that long).

Calum was seemingly in good spirits until he noticed Michael, then grew somewhat weary. “What’s up?” He asked cheerily when he got there, but Michael had always been able to see through him, and knew that if he was to get what he wanted he’d need to do a lot better than just showing up.

“I’m sorry,” He said immediately, and when Calum opened his mouth, Michael stopped him. “No, I’m not done. It’s been really shit of me to do this—push you away or whatever and it’s not because I don’t love you it’s just because I don’t know what the fuck that means, and I’m trying, I really am but I realized that it’s not fair to you, and it kind of sucks not seeing each other all the time and—”

“Michael,” Calum cut him off, and smiled. “I was happy with ‘I’m sorry.’”

Then they were hugging, Michael had his arms tight around Calum’s waist, face pressed into his neck and Calum was clinging to Michael’s neck with the same force, same desperation.

“I’ve missed you.” Calum mumbled.

“I’ve missed you too. So much.” 

They held the hug in silence for a few more moments, before Calum sighed. “I suppose you want me to stop being friends with Luke.”

“No,” Michael protested, “I mean, I kind of hate him, but as long as I don’t have to see him you can do whatever you want.”

Calum saw right through him. He always did. 

 

“You can’t be a one-man band, Michael.” Calum sighed for what was probably the hundredth time.

“Why not?” Michael whined, but he was smiling. He liked this—he liked just sitting in his bedroom fucking around with his guitar while Calum did homework. This was familiar, this felt right and Calum’s stupidity couldn’t event take that away.

“Because you want to play punk music. You cannot play punk music with one guitar.” Calum explained patiently, and Michael just ignored him.

The truth was that Calum was right—if Michael wanted to have an actual successful band, there was no way he could do it alone.

“There’s always—”

“No.” Michael interrupted Calum, who sighed again.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Calum complained, and Michael smirked.

“If what you were going to say wasn’t Luke Hemmings, I’ll actually die of shock.”

That shut Calum up for a few seconds, but then he composed himself. “I’m not saying you have to serenade him from outside his window, I’m just telling you to watch a fucking video.” 

Michael scrunched up his nose at that because he and Calum had been having the disagreement for almost a year, since Calum decided that Michael was more important than anyone else and he was still friendly with Luke of course—Michael wasn’t sure it was even possible for Calum to not be friendly—but Michael still held an irrational grudge.

Calum shifted around when Michael didn’t say anything, shoving papers in between pages of his books. “Done your homework?” Michael asked, done with the subject anyways.

“No,” Calum laughed, “But I’m tired and the whole ‘due tomorrow’ thing is probably pretty flexible.” 

Michael laughed too—who was he to judge unfinished homework? Instead he got up from the floor, put his guitar away and hopped onto the bed, ignoring Calum’s protests and grumble about “jostling his papers.”

“You sleeping over?” Michael asked, but really it was pretty obvious because it was late enough that they should have been asleep and there was school tomorrow and honestly, they’d been sleeping over at one another’s houses more often than staying separated at night in the past year and it had gotten to the point that at least a third of Michael’s cloths were at Calum’s house and vice versa and it was kind of a miracle that neither of their parents had put a foot down.

“If it’s alright,” Calum said smiling, because of course it was alright. It was easier to sleep with him there anyways.

Michael just crawled under the covers and held out his arms as a response, so Calum joined him, curling up to his side.

As it was really quite late, Michael let silence fall and started to drift off right away. He figured Calum was asleep already (seriously, he was usually dead to the world the second his eyes closed) but suddenly Calum shifted to look up.

“Michael,” He whispered, and Michael rolled his eyes playfully.

“What?”

“Please watch one of his videos. Just one, that’s all I’m asking.” Calum’s voice was tentative and soft, almost nervous, as if Michael would really be mad at him, but Michael just sighed gently. “It’s just one video, only like, two minutes. For me?” Calum asked, and this time Michael didn’t roll his eyes or sigh because it obviously meant a lot to Calum if he was pushing about it and Michael didn’t want to disappoint him, ever.

“Yeah, fine.” Michael mumbled, and the look of relief on Calum’s face was surprising—was it not obvious that Michael would do anything for Calum? He thought it was. 

 

It was almost comical—how easily Michael cracked. It really did take just one video and Michael almost (but not quite) forgot about the fact that Luke nearly stole Calum. 

And somehow, not long after Michael approached a tentative Luke in the halls at school, Calum convinced Michael that he was a good enough guitarist to be in the new band.

It was easy in a way it hadn’t been in a long time, having three of them instead of just the two. They talked a lot about music and the other kids in their year and they day-dreamed aloud about their band—

It was simple again, and it gave Michael a sense of relief.

Until one day, Calum was at football practice and Michael was at Luke’s (they said they were going to film a cover but ended up just playing video games for a few hours) and Luke stopped the game in the middle of a particularly good run Michael was having, and he whined.

“Luke!”

“Can I tell you something?” Luke asked quickly, turning to face Michael and even though they’d only been friends for a few months, Michael knew that this was serious so he let it go.

“Yeah, of course.” 

“I—okay—I know we don’t ever talk about this but I’m—well, I wanted to show you.” Luke stumbled over his words and Michael watched as Luke tugged up the sleeve of his hoodie, exposing his timer, at 002 193:48:17. Michael stared at it blankly for a few moments, trying to calculate when Luke finally mumbled, “It’s about three months.”

“Shit—that’s huge.” Michael breathed, because this was the closest he’d ever seen, the smallest numbers he’d ever encountered (aside from his own).

“I—it’s dumb to be nervous, right?” Luke pushed his sleeve back down and Michael noticed for the first time that he hadn’t seen Luke’s timer before, how it was odd and must have been intentional. “I mean,” Luke continued when Michael didn’t respond, “It’s supposed to make everything okay, right? It’s supposed to be all smooth-sailing afterwards.” 

Michael had to look down at that—and he took a deep breath. “It’s not—not always, I guess. But you don’t need to worry about it; like I’m sure it’ll work out for you, it’s obviously different.” Michael trailed off when he noticed Luke’s confused stare.

“What are you—” Luke stared to ask, and Michael sighed. Luke had certainly never seen Michael’s timer, but Michael always figured he’d known in some way, always figured that maybe Calum had said something or he’d pieced it all together.

He shuffled his bracelets up his arms and held out his wrist for the first time in years, and Luke nodded thoughtfully.

“You knew?” Michael asked blandly, unsurprised.

“I wondered,” Luke responded, and shrugged. “Calum never talks about his timer but he doesn’t hide it, and if it wasn’t you, I had no idea who it would have been.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more and Michael wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it.

“You’ll be fine, though. You’re not me and Calum.” Michael pointed out, trying to push the subject back to Luke’s soulmate and wondered if this was Luke’s plan the whole time.

“You say that like it’s such a bad thing.” Luke mumbled.

“Isn’t it, though?” Michael cut in frantically; not angry, but anxious. Tired from keeping it all in for so long and feelings bubbling over the brim now that he was talking about it. “Like, you’re considered young to meet your soulmate, me and Calum met when we were six! We didn’t know, didn’t know what we were supposed to do or what it meant and we still don’t, we’ve never really even talked about it, and we might not ever talk about it.”

Michael paused, catching his breath and Luke just sat there calmly, evaluating him. When it was clear that he was done, Luke started speaking again. “I—I never even had real friends until you guys. My childhood was mostly trying to tag along with my brothers or sitting by myself in my room. I know that this whole—this thing is confusing, but I don’t think it’s the worst that could have happened.” 

Michael frowned and thought it over—it was true that it could have been worse. There were people whose timers just froze one day, stuck on the numbers that led to a soulmate that was no longer alive. There were also people that had ridiculously high numbers, adding up to their 60’s or 70’s, after the time they could’ve really made the most of a soulmate. Or probably the worst, there were people with zeros on their wrists and no one to match, having lost something great far too young.

Michael actually shuddered at the thought of losing Calum, of a world where he was there and Calum wasn’t and he actually couldn’t think of it, couldn’t figure out who he would be or what he would do and—

“Oh,” He mumbled, and Luke half-smiled and Michael sort of glared but didn’t really have the heart to. “What am I going to do?” He asked more to himself than Luke.

“You could always start with talking,” Luke suggested, and Michael rolled his eyes.

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Calum, I don’t know if I want to just be best friends with you or if I want to be more?’ It’s not fair; I’ve got to figure it out first.”

Luke pressed his lips together. “Maybe? I mean, your soulmate is supposed to help you through everything. And if not as your soulmate, you could always ask him as your best friend.”

 

“We should talk.” Michael said as Calum was climbing into bed; he was sleeping over at Michael’s house. He couldn’t look at Calum as he said the words—it had taken all night to build up the motivation and he was seconds from backing out already.

“Yeah, sure,” Calum crawled over softly, stretching out to lie facing Michael but not touching. 

“Like, for real.” Michael added, because Calum was a little too casual about their whole relationship.

“I know.”

“About the—about the soulmate thing.” Michael tried to swallow the nerves, grandly unsuccessfully. He wasn’t even sure why he was nervous, it was Calum and Calum would be there no matter what. But maybe that was exactly why he was so nervous—he wasn’t sure Calum would like what he had to say, but he’d be there anyways. 

“I know.” Calum breathed, stretched a hand to thread fingers with Michael—reassuring. Michael knew exactly what Calum was saying in the gesture; that it was okay for Michael to not be ready. And it scared Michael—it scared Michael that Calum could tell exactly what Michael was trying to get out and it scared Michael that Calum could communicate his own intentions with a touch and—

“I can’t do it.” Michael finally exhaled, tears filling his eyes.

“I know.” Calum repeated quietly, and Michael choked back a sob.

“I love you. I promise I love you. Just not—”

“Not the way I love you?” Calum finished for him, and Michael nearly broke.

“You’re the most important person in my life. That will never change.” Michael said instead of answering, because he couldn’t. He didn’t know, and if he did, he was scared that it would be the wrong answer.

He was just as scared that it would be the right one.

“Michael,” Calum mumbled, and Michael realised he’d been looking away as his eyes turned back to Calum’s. “Do whatever you have to. We don’t need to be anything other than what we are right now. Take your time, figure things out. No matter what you do, no matter how long it takes, you can always come back.” 

“I’m not going away, nothings changing.” Michael buried his face in Calum’s neck and they lied together in silence without sleeping until light started inching its way into the sky. 

 

“Guys,” Luke was breathless rushing into the room, and Michael abruptly stopped playing his guitar and Calum looked up from his video game. “I met—I met him.”

“You met who?” Calum asked, but he probably knew, and Michael knew, would know even if he hadn’t estimated the time, even if he hadn’t been waiting for an announcement just like this one for a good week. 

“My—the—Ashton.” He finished, smiling stupidly and held out his wrist for further confirmation, a long line of zeros. 

“Ashton.” Calum repeated blankly, and Luke nodded.

“Ashton. At the movies. He thought my hair was cool.”

“Ashton lied.” Michael interjected, despite being slightly taken aback. “No one thinks your hair is cool.”

“I’ve—I’ve met my soulmate.” Luke said, mostly to himself. “I met him.”

Michael went still, finally processing what Luke way saying. “Wait, him?”

Luke looked at Michael in confusion, eyes shooting to Calum and back. “Um. Is that. Is that like. A problem?” 

“No!” Michael was quick to clarify. “I just didn’t think—”

“What, thought we were special?” Calum chimed in, teasing, and Michael felt his cheeks grow hot.

Like, he obviously knew that some boys had boy soulmates and some girls had girl soulmates and that was fine he just—

It felt different seeing an actual example right in front of him. Seeing someone else find their soulmate and have a normal experience, just with another guy.

Luke coughed and Michael realized that he’d left the silence far too long. “No,” He mumbled, “I mean, that’s not what I mean, I just didn’t think you were—you liked—”

Luke finally caught on and shrugged. “I kind of figured it would be. Like, a guy.”

Michael had to smile at how simple it was for him, had to appreciate and admire how infatuated Luke clearly already was and the little twinge of jealousy barely even put a dent in that.

In his peripheral vision, Michael noticed Calum watching him curiously, questioning. Michael turned his head to make eye contact and Calum smiled, unashamed, and suddenly everything sort of—fell into place.

“Calum, can—”

“Yeah,” Calum stood up before Michael could even try to awkwardly ask to talk, and led the way out of the room. Michael looked back to an unsurprised Luke, who shot him a knowing smile.

Michael held back a groan and followed Calum into the hallway. He was leaning against the wall, and Michael looked away to quickly shut the door. “I don’t—” Michael started to say, but trailed off, not sure what to say, where to start. He sighed and flopped down to sit across the hall from Calum.

Calum slid down to the floor too, interlocking his fingers and watching Michael as he waited.

Michael sighed again. “I don’t really know what I’m saying but—” he paused to evaluate Calum’s reaction, which was just more patience. “I want to look like that when I talk about you. I want you to look like that when you talk about me.” He gestured back to the door, and Calum breathed a laugh.

“You have no idea how—” he trailed off, and Michael frowned.

“What?”

“I do talk about you like that. Luke used to think you were my boyfriend just because of how much I would talk about you, and I really don’t think he’s the only one. You make me—you make me like that.” 

“What about me?” Michael asked hesitantly.

“You—are you sure you want to hear this?” Calum asked and Michael nodded. “You’re like that, and more. You smile at me like—”

“Like you’re all that matters?” Michael finished for him, and Calum shrugged.

“Like I’m someone you love.”

“You are.” Michael said, without even thinking, without even hesitating. 

“Which one?”

“Both. Everything.” Michael smiled and Calum was nodding like he’d known this was coming for a while. He probably had. “I don’t want to pretend we’re less anymore. I’m—”

“Ready?” Calum asked, and Michael nodded.

“I’m in love with you. Always have been, I think. Sorry it took so long to spit it out.” Michael was kind of embarrassed, felt kind of guilty for needing someone else to show him it was okay to be what they were.

“That’s okay. Just means we got to have different kinds of love. Like, I loved you when we were six and that can’t be the same way I loved you when we were ten or when we were twelve or fourteen.”

And then Michael remembered the time that they kissed and how it felt and how ridiculous it was that he hadn’t done it again and how ridiculous it was that they weren’t kissing right then so he surged forward and then they were kissing like they making up for lost time.

Michael figured maybe they eventually would.


End file.
